


Wake Me Up (When It's All Over)

by secondhand_watermelon



Series: Tumblr Prompts: Wheel of Mythicality Endings [1]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, Wheel of Mythicality, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhand_watermelon/pseuds/secondhand_watermelon
Summary: From the Wheel of Mythicality Endings prompts: Link falls asleep.What lengths will Rhett go to in order to wake up his sleeping friend?
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Series: Tumblr Prompts: Wheel of Mythicality Endings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664602
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	Wake Me Up (When It's All Over)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anonymous who prompted this Wheel Ending on tumblr. This will be part of a collection.

The wheel clatters to a stop, and as Link utters his usual, “Welcome to Good Mythical More,” Rhett tilts his head to read the prompt. His brow furrows as he announces, “Link falls asleep.”

Without a word or even a glance at his co-host, Link promptly slumps across the desk, arms akimbo, head pillowed on one bicep. His glasses press up against the wood, going completely askew on his face with one lens nearly perched atop his nose. His mouth falls gently open in a familiar expression, and Rhett can hear his soft, snuffling breaths as they hit the surface of the desk and bounce upward, almost believable as the slow deep breathing of a sleeping man.

“Huh,” he says a little more quietly, nudging Link’s closest shoulder with his elbow. “Guess he must really be exhausted.” He reaches over and tugs Link’s glasses from his face, absent-mindedly shoving them onto his own nose as he leans in, too close to Link’s face for comfort had the other man been ‘awake’. Rhett can’t resist the urge to mess with his friend for the sake of the improv; he lightly blows a stream of cool air across Link’s face, impressed when the other man fails to even twitch. He brings up a hand and brushes the hair off Link’s forehead where it’s starting to fall into his eyes, his fingertips lingering over the curve of Link’s brow a second or two longer than he plans to. Link’s skin is soft, and warm, and from this close Rhett can see how long his dark eyelashes are, and the perfect grooming of his too-dramatic eyebrows. He’s been so close to this face more times than he can count in their lifetime together, but something about studying the stillness of it in Link’s feigned sleep state is making it seem new and different all over again.

Link sighs, softly, and it is easy to pass it off as the murmurs and mumbles of a sleeping man. But Link is pretending, and Rhett’s hand has somehow drifted to Link’s neck, cupping the back of it gently as he leans in. He’s forgotten what he is pretending to do for the sake of the skit; he’s waiting for Link to bolt upright, frighten him, do something ridiculous and break the odd spell that has settled over them in the artificial silence of the set. But Link remains still, breath whispering out softly and slowly between his parted lips, his eyelashes fluttering minutely as if to indicate he is in the deepest realms of REM sleep. Rhett’s thumb slides around to the side of his throat, and Rhett can feel the one thing that betrays the truth of this moment: Link’s pulse, fluttering like the rapid wingbeat of a hummingbird, strong but trembling beneath his skin.

“Wake up, Linkipoo,” Rhett whispers, his breath curling around the shell of Link’s ear, ever so slightly ruffling the soft hair just above it. He feels goosebumps rise up on Link’s neck under the weight of his hand, and it makes something warm stir deep in his belly. He leans in just an inch or two closer, murmurs again. “Wake up, buddyroll. We got a show to finish.”

The improv has gone on long enough now, too long probably, but still Link does not stir; his face and body do not reveal a bit of the reaction Rhett _knows_ Link is having to his friend’s proximity, judging by his rapid pulse and the chills raising goosebumps down his spine. Rhett decides to push his luck just a bit further, try something he is sure will have Link startling away and laughing off the joke in no time.

“I could do anything I want to you right now,” he says quietly, glancing quickly up at the camera, at the monitor, as if to say _Watch this, mythical beasts_ just before taking in the startlingly intimate image of the two of them reflected on the large monitor screen. Link is in a slim black tee, glasses gone, stubble prickling his cheeks and chin, sprawled out across the desk and looking oddly small and peaceful while Rhett, bearded and wild-haired and broad in a deep blue plaid, looms beside him with his face so close that his beard nearly brushes Link’s temple. Rhett licks his lips, takes in the hungry look in his own eyes and tries to dismiss it as _acting_ , and turns back to his co-host with a mischievous grin.

“I could mess up your hair,” he observes, before sinking his fingers into Link’s silver-dark hair, dense with pomade, and ruffling the strands which are nearly as long as he remembers from his friend’s years of wings and sideswept bangs. Link inhales a bit more sharply, but his eyes remain closed, and Rhett is determined to up the ante again.

“I could...lick you,” he declares, feeling a bit desperate. This scene is so long now it’s almost uncomfortable, and he can see the comments pouring in about how weird this More is, about how ridiculous they are sometimes, even explicit comments about his own “big dick energy” and how Link’s “a total sub.” And why he’s thinking that right now, he’s not even sure, but Link certainly feels very submissive, allowing all manner of behavior from Rhett that he would shrink away from in any other circumstance. Rhett needs to break him out of it. He needs this to end.

Rhett leans in and gently, delicately, licks along the rim of Link’s ear, from just above the lobe to the top curve, before giving Link’s earlobe one wet, flirtatious flick with the tip of his tongue.

He had intended to do something obvious and gross, like a big wet slobbery lick on Link’s cheek that would disgust him so thoroughly that he would open his eyes, scrub off his cheek, and scold Rhett loudly while a blush of embarrassment crawled up his neck and bloomed on his cheekbones. At the last minute, however, his tongue appears to have had a mind of its own, and Rhett feels himself blushing instead, leaning back to take in Link’s reaction and avoid the flailing reaction of horror that is almost certainly headed his way.

Nothing.

He can see, if he looks closely, that Link’s face is actually now flushed, and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck and his upper arms are standing on end, skin prickled with goosebumps all the way down his arms. His eyelashes are fluttering just a bit more, but otherwise Link is still motionless and silent, still feigning sleep despite Rhett’s best efforts. Rhett has _licked his ear_ , and Link is still pretending to be asleep.

What does he _want_?

Rhett is about to shake him, drag him from his chair, force him to end the charade and move on and-- god, is the entire More going to be _this_ ? What if he does all that, grabs Link and risks his back and gives in to the awkwardness of it all, and Link keeps up the ruse? What if when Rhett grabs him, his friend is just dead weight, slumping into Rhett and dragging him to the floor? Should he _dead move_ Link and order the cameras to be shut off, chalking it up to the weirdness of trying to go back to improv prompts on the wheel instead of the clean, slick, predictable series of results they had cooked up a few years back? What the hell is he supposed to _do_?

Rhett realizes he’s doing what he always does when he cannot figure out what is expected of him: he’s getting a bit pissed off. Link wants to make it weird, embarrass him, provoke him into these too-intimate, futile attempts to call off the world’s dumbest, longest improv ever? Fine. Cool. He won’t know what hit him. Rhett grits his teeth and then forces a too-bright smile.

“Oh, I get it, baby,” he drawls out, and there it is. The slightest twitch from the corner of Link’s mouth. This is how Rhett is going to get him. He lets his voice drop even lower, throaty and rough and rumbling in his chest, and pushes his chair back. “You’re playing hard to get. I see it now.” He slides from his chair to his knees, knowing the camera can still see his shoulders and head above the plane of the desk, and slides a hand up Link’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna wake you up real nice.”

Rhett gives the camera a sultry smile, a wink, and drops below the desk.

He can feel every muscle in Link’s body immediately tense, even though he’s not touching him anymore; he can see Link’s thighs begin to tremble slightly from anxiousness and the strain of pretending when he’s certain, absolutely _certain_ that Link wants nothing more than to wake up right now, end it, and figure out if they can salvage this ridiculous show-after-the-show or if they will need to reshoot from the outro. But for whatever godforsaken reason, as Rhett shifts under the desk and positions himself in front of his best friend’s slightly spread knees, he sees that Link is still more or less unmoving, at least as far as the camera is concerned. Link is asleep, and Rhett is invisible. The crew, silent despite what must be incredible confusion and discomfort, has already long since faded away from Rhett’s mind. All he can think of is _Link_ , and this _skit_ , and _winning_.

“Baby,” he purrs, loud enough to still be picked up by his lapel mic, if not the desk one. He almost gasps aloud when Link’s thighs shift, not to press together in an attempt to dissuade Rhett from whatever mischief he has planned, but to _spread_ , wider and more welcoming. Rhett cannot stop himself from placing his hands on Link’s knees, thumbs rubbing over the lowest inch of what could be called his inner thighs, feeling daring and terrified. “That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, hearing the tremble in his own voice. “Time to wake up. Let me help.”

Just as his hands begin to slide up Link’s thighs, warm and weighty and slick from nervous sweat, Rhett feels it. Link shifts, moves, and he is sitting up now, feigning a loud yawn and a stretch. “Mmm,” he groans, and Rhett feels the warmth that has been heating up his belly for endless minutes now fan up into a roaring flame at the sound. “Rhett? You wouldn’t believe the dream I was having…”

“And cut,” comes Stevie’s shaky voice over a distant mic. Rhett blinks, pulls his hands away from Link’s legs and emerges from under the desk. He cannot bring himself to look over at Link as he hauls himself up into his chair, scoots it forward to its usual spot at the desk, and takes in his own disheveled appearance in the monitor. His hair is in disarray, falling heavily over his forehead, and his cheeks and lips are flushed with--embarrassment, he supposes. He lets himself glance at Link from the safety of the monitor, a bit removed.

Link looks...fine.

Rhett blinks.

“As entertaining as that was,” Stevie declares, emerging from behind camera equipment to perch on the corner of the desk, “I really can’t see how we can go from that into the game we planned for the More.”

“So scrap the plan,” Link says easily, and Rhett finally looks over at him. His hair has been combed back into place with expert fingers, his tee shirt shows no signs of rumpling or wrinkling, and even his face and neck are flush-free. He appears entirely unaffected. Rhett realizes he is clenching his jaw in frustration, and he snaps before he thinks.

“We can’t just throw out an entire script because you’ve forgotten how to time a bit,” he says sharply, and Link glances over. His lips crease in a crooked smile.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agrees, still as casual as before. “Guess I got carried away.”

Rhett scowls, feeling his face heat even more. _Link_ isn’t the one who got carried away, exactly, and they both know it. Link didn’t even _move_.

“So we’ll reshoot, from the outro of the main episode?” Stevie asks with a sigh. It’s clear she’s annoyed with the delay and the need to reshoot so many minutes of material, but there’s nothing else to be done. Rhett nods, and Link follows suit.

“Can we take a break, though?” Link adds quickly, and Rhett stares at him in surprise. After all that, his friend is going to ask the crew to wait even longer to complete the day’s shooting schedule? Stevie turns back to them with a look of frustration on her face.

“Really? I don’t know if we have time for it.”

“We’ll make time,” Link says firmly, with the tone of someone who is choosing to exercise his rarely-demonstrated authority. Stevie frowns and shrugs with an air of resignation.

“All right. Should we resume after lunch? You guys should change before you eat; you don’t want to mess up those outfits. We’ll need them later.”

“Yeah, sure,” Link agrees, and Rhett just sits there, watching the exchange and feeling as though he’s completely out of the loop of his own life. Link unhooks his mic and tugs the wire out from under his shirt, dropping the mic pack onto the desk before turning to Rhett with an unreadable expression on his face.

“You coming?”

Rhett swallows, stands, and removes his own mic. He’s finding it hard to look Link in the eyes. “I guess. Where are we going?”

“Loft,” Link says quietly, but there’s something so intense in his voice that Rhett can’t help but look up, meet his bright blue gaze. Link looks determined now, certain. Rhett swallows again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Link repeats. He smiles finally, that sweet crooked smile he so often saves only for Rhett. Rhett feels his heart skip a beat as Link reaches out, just barely, and brushes his hand with a single finger. His touch lingers just long enough for Rhett to feel every nerve in his body alight.

“I feel like I need a nap.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ secondhand-watermelon.


End file.
